


once

by aparticularbandit



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, F/F, HOW DID I NOT KNOW THAT WAS A TAG, Implied/Referenced Sex, More angst, Pre-S1, THAT'S A TAG?!, but also a popcorn fight so there's that, so guess who's still married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:10:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aparticularbandit/pseuds/aparticularbandit
Summary: Roisa Netflix and Chill.Only without Netflix.  Or chill.





	once

**Author's Note:**

> apologies if this feels a little rough. or if the ending feels weird. i wasn't sure how to end it. and i didn't necessarily do a bunch of editing. but this was a nice break between the other stuff i've been trying to work on. or i guess not nice because it's a bundle of angst. but hey at least a bit of it's fun right.

once, when her father was still alive but far enough out of the way that luisa could pretend that his unique brand of complication did not exist, she sat on a couch with the woman she knew that she loved, the television on in front of them but neither really paying attention to whatever was happening on the screen.  rose lay sprawled across her, long legs stretched across her lap.  luisa couldn’t help but brush her fingers across her smooth skin, not pausing to count the freckles (she already knew their number, as many as the grains of sand on the shore outside of the new hotel location – or, no, less the sand and more the ripples of the waves as they tore across their surface, pushing and pulling, sometimes there, sometimes not, constant in their breathlessness).  a half-eaten bowl of popcorn lay on the couch between them; rose picked the hard, unpopped kernels out of the bottom, and luisa had only eaten where the melted butter coated the uppermost pieces.  neither wanted what was left in the middle.

it seemed like one of those old college moments, tucked away in an apartment refusing to study for a class she knew she would ace even if she wasn’t entirely sober, even if she hadn’t been entirely sober in what felt like months, even if right now, in this very moment, she was more sober than she had been in her entire life, and that made the moment that much sharper, the skin beneath her fingertips that much softer, the sweetest scent of mixed lavender and strawberries that much sweeter.  without the buzz, without the haze, she couldn’t pretend she was dreaming.  she had to believe in the reality of this moment.

and it was better when she didn’t feel the question perched on the edge of her tongue – _why do we keep doing this?_ – when, right now, the most they could be said to be doing was watching an old black-and-white movie, a foreign one that rose picked out, with subtitles, so they would be forced to focus on the screen instead of each other.  but luisa’s eyes kept wandering over to the red curls curved against the arm of her sofa, catching the blue bright eyes that would shift from the screen to her ever so often, the tips of her fingers as they placed another kernel in her mouth before the sharp _crack_ of it breaking between her perfect teeth.

as if foreign black-and-white movies weren’t romantic.

(rose had forbidden her from picking the movie after the last one she’d chosen had been muppets and singing and she had refused to let herself get distracted because _rose, this is the best part, pay attention to the movie!_   rose never cared if she was paying attention to the movie.  half the point was that she _didn’t_ pay attention to the movie.  wasn’t that why her legs were in her lap and she couldn’t keep from brushing her fingers across them?)

her eyes caught rose’s again – the bright blue of a cloudless sky with the mixed brown and mottled green of the soil to ground such dreamers as they were, her head in rose’s sky, and rose’s feet on her earth – and her brows raised, lips curving into a smile around the last kernel as it passes between them.  “are you watching?”

“yes.”

luisa smiled, smug, and it hurt because being with rose made her feel normal again until she realized that she wasn’t.  but she faded into the normalcy of what the moment _should_ be easily enough, letting her eyes wander again, down the slope of rose’s breasts, the curve of her waist, lighting where her legs met, and drawing back up.  she caught the hitch of her own breath, watched rose’s deepen, the way her chest moved.

“the _movie_.”

rose’s fingers reached into the bowl, picking around the pieces left for another kernel.  she broke their locked gaze as she glanced down towards the glass bowl tucked between them.

“it’s all foreign and subtitles and i can’t focus,” luisa huffed as she turned back to the screen.  “I want to pay attention to the actors, not spend half of the time reading the screen.”  she crossed her arms, finally removing her touch from rose’s skin, and scooted into the couch, slumping so that rose’s legs were closer to her stomach.

“poor baby,” rose said, her voice echoed with the sharp crack of another kernel.  “wants bright colors and musical dance numbers to draw her attention.”

luisa’s eyes returned to rose’s face, to the open-mouthed grin brightening her face.  “i take offense at that statement.  I can watch all kinds of movies without—“

rose threw the first piece of popcorn.  _luisa will have it noted that rose threw the first piece._

it landed flat on her face, square on the bridge of her nose, just between her eyes, and her mouth dropped open.  “ _hey!_   i did _not_ deserve—“

the next one landed in her mouth and she almost choked on it, leaning forward and coughing before the fire burned in her eyes and, “ _this means war_ ,” and the sneaking mischievous look in rose’s eyes as though daring her without speaking, _what are you going to do to me?_ with her tongue peeking out just between her lips.

luisa grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl and threw a piece that bounced just off of rose’s chest, pelting her with another one while rose put up one hand to block the barrage.  but luisa grew up with a younger brother (rose never talked about her family; maybe she did, too, and luisa never knew) and she’d learned how to throw curveballs with popcorn.

rose caught one piece and threw it back at her then drew her legs back towards her as an additional wall, jostling the glass bowl.  but luisa bridged the gap, knocking the bowl off the couch with a sharp crack like the kernels between rose’s lips but much more easily ignored, continuing to pelt rose with popcorn from above as the younger woman curled under her, hands in front of her face.

“stop, stop!”  rose laughed, lifting one finger and waving it.  “white flag.  surrender.  no more.”

_no more._

luisa paused, wary, eyes narrowing.  “you promise?”

“promise.  no more.  full surrender.”  rose’s hands fell, every one of the freckles on her face stark on her skin, and there was the span of a heartbeat before she grinned.  “after this one.”

rose popped a piece into luisa’s mouth, and luisa’s teeth closed on her fingers, over the wedding rings her father had given her.  she dragged them off and let them fall onto the floor covered with broken glass along with the final piece rose pushed past her lips.

“i’m going to need those later.”

“i know.”

the remote shoved into her ribs as she leaned forward, and she pushed it to the side, one hand already curving through the waves of her stepmother’s hair, blood red on the shore of her shoulders, the color dripping and freckle staining her skin.

“luisa.”

 _let me have this_ , she wanted to say, although she wasn’t sure who she would be saying it to – not rose, certainly, and who else could she ask?  _let me have this_ , and she didn’t have to put her plea into words, instead letting her eyes relax shut as the other woman cupped her cheek with pale fingers she already knew to be slender, long, not needing to see them as they brushed slow through her hair.

it was pity.  or something like it.  it was self-destruction enabled by the red button spreading out beneath her.

rose didn’t continue the familiar refrain – _we can’t_ or _we shouldn’t_ or _I can’t_ or any other excuse she could turn to later and say _look, here is where I indicated we should stop and luisa continued_ or try to say she fought against something that they both kept returning to (at least luisa chose a children’s movie.  at least luisa chose something that _one_ of them loved enough to focus on) – and when luisa hesitated, her lips chased the bitter taste of salt and diamonds and gold away, those long legs parting for her body to press between them.

“are we ever going to _finish_ one of these movies?” she couldn’t help but ask as their lips parted, her nose brushing gently against rose’s.  she still wouldn’t open her eyes.

rose didn’t answer, other than a light laugh as her ringless hand brushed along the nape of luisa’s neck.

it was on the tip of her tongue, out before she could stop it, “stay with me,” a plea that hung in the air between them until her eyes snapped open, wide, “not _forever_ , i know not to ask for forever, but or a little while longer.  tell him i’m drinking.  tell him i want to drink.  _tell him i need you._ ” and he wouldn’t know how true that was, would only know enough for her to stay.

long enough that she wouldn’t be alone while she cleaned up the broken shards of the popcorn bowl on the floor by the couch.

rose nodded, and as close as they were, her nose brushed along luisa’s with each tilt of her head.  one of her legs tightened about her waist.

it wasn’t enough, to be kissing her like this or to have her warm body soft beneath hers; not enough to know the ins and outs of her skin, the lines where sunburn faded and freckles began; not enough to know the deepening of her voice or the taste of her sweet as berries between her lips – each moment of enough began with the thought that this was hers and was followed by the bitter acknowledgement that everything she felt and tasted was joined with her father, each touch an echo of his fire along her skin, each bruise an attempt to paint over the teeth marks he left behind, each kiss an attempt to be sweeter by far than what _he_ did.  this was hers, but this was not hers.  this wasn’t his, but this was his.  each moment of _stay_ was bartered from him.  borrowed.  _broken._

it was like breaking into his liquor cabinet all those years ago and letting rafael take the fall for it (or one of the servants, which sometimes felt worse).

redheads bruise too easy.  each mark she might leave needed to cover or be covered by one of his own.  they couldn’t be caught.

she tasted bile in the back of her throat every time.


End file.
